


That's True

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [12]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Has Happened Between One-Shots, Flirting, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-The Book of Shartan, Slight Time Jump, Teaching Someone to Read Can Get Intimate, UST, We're Officially in This Territory Now:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan teaches Fenris how to read.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Out of the multiple flirting options, Azzan chooses this one, where he offers to teach Fenris to read, and the one before, where he offers to help Fenris with his problems – or give him a few more. Unlike in the game, however, the words had been meant rather innocuously, though they were not interpreted that way. Azzan participated willingly in the flirting that came as a result, but he chose the middle option, for once, the most sincere of the three, which asked, “do you see anyone else here?” on the follow-through.
> 
> The first couple of flirt options, though they seem to amuse/embarrass Fenris, would seem rude and out of place to Azzan. The first came immediately after Fenris showed issues with Hawke being a mage. The second is shortly after meeting him and is nothing more than a flirt on Fenris' appearance – something Azzan wouldn't feel comfortable saying, especially knowing Fenris had an issue with mages. (And especially since Azzan is demiromantic, and thus only becomes interested in a relationship after forming a close friendship with someone.) Thus, only the third and fourth options were used before the romance option was locked in during A Bitter Pill.
> 
> I’ve skipped canon scenes, since we already know them, but if anyone wants me to write the scene in which Azzan and Fenris flirt, just let me know. :)

Azzan hadn't expected the news of Fenris' illiteracy when he'd given the elf the Book of Shartan. He should have, probably. But he hadn't. Another rejection of a gift had been on the forefront of his mind, along with possible ways of talking the man into accepting; he'd thought only of how much Fenris might appreciate the voice of strength from the past, and not of the actual difficulties slaves endured even after escaping their imprisonment.

Why had he thought that Fenris, even if he'd been a beloved pet of his master, would have been taught to read? Why would he think that, while on the run for three years, Fenris had managed to find the time to learn? And while Fenris hadn't had to run for three years after that, comparatively safe in Kirkwall, who would he have had to teach him?

Well, now he had Azzan. And if Azzan could help Fenris claim this small bit of freedom, then he would do so.

The first day, he scoured his library for something that might be of use. Something without too difficult a material, something easily followed. Short sentences, short words. The problem was, those books had been a part of his childhood, and had been left behind more and more each time his family had needed to move on, leaving a town to avoid detection and capture. And the few he'd kept for sentimental purpose had been lost during the destruction of Lothering.

Perhaps worse had been the small signs of Aveline’s presence in his home, the books that she had left in the library for herself, or as a subtle cue for him to read. Thinking about Aveline hurt, even moreso after learning from Varric and Fenris what she’d been planning to do. He once again pushed the thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t deal with it. For the moment, he would focus on what he _could_ do. Who he _could_ help.

He couldn’t change himself. He couldn’t be anything other than who he was. He’d thought that had been enough. Gaining Aveline’s friendship, the first person to know he was a mage and accept him, anyway–

He was thinking about it. He shouldn’t be thinking about it.

He determinedly continued searching the library for some sort of alternative, quickly glancing away from anything that reminded him of her. It wasn't until he stumbled upon one of Anders' manifestos that he came upon the obvious solution.

Fenris hadn't set any sort of time or schedule for this. In fact, ever since Azzan had offered to teach him, Fenris had been silent on the subject itself. So it was up to Azzan to bring up the problem again, this time with a probable solution. He didn't know how to break past this barrier, or if Fenris even wanted him to. Why hadn't he brought up his illiteracy again?

A few people moved back and forth along the streets as he made his way through Hightown. A servant brushed past him, head down, muttering a list of items to buy. A couple of templars spoke with a guard, their hand gesticulations wide enough to speak of a story told and not an ongoing hunt. Still, Azzan's heart thudded hollowly in his chest until he turned past them. By the time he'd made it to Fenris' door, he'd worked himself half-mad trying to figure out a way to not upset Fenris as he mentioned his plans and keep his calm at the sight of templars walking around the neighborhood. Was something going on?

He hurried through the door and into the mansion, pausing for a moment on the inside. He hadn't been in for a few weeks to clean; dust was starting to accumulate on the many shelves and tables left intact in the rooms. The floors remained clean, however, and the area uncluttered – Fenris had taken care to clean the place himself. He had done so more and more as the years had passed. As if laying down some roots of his own.

He looked up to the staircase, imagining Fenris inside. The man moved around more; no longer could Azzan simply expect the man to be at his house. He could be at the tavern, drinking liquor and playing cards with Varric. He could be at the guardskeep, speaking with Aveline about simple mercenary work. He could even be tromping around Kirkwall, doing only Fenris knew what. Living outside his hole in the wall. Perhaps hooking up with Isabela. (Something Azzan often deliberately tried to not think about.)

This time, however, he was there. The man was sitting, for once, his gaze on the fire. Brooding in the middle of the day.

The fire made the room warm. Warmer than it needed to be; the air outside was crisp, but with the windows shut, the sunlight burned the room nearly stifling. If Fenris realized that, however, he wasn't mentioning it.

“Fenris.”

The man looked up. As usual, the slightest touch of firelight turned Fenris' hair to liquid gold. “Hawke.” Fenris straightened from his brooding slump, though he turned quickly back to the fire. “What are you doing here?”

Azzan put his papers and quills on the floor by his usual chair and sat. “What's wrong?”

Fenris looked back at him. His skin seemed flushed in the light of the fire. “It's nothing.” And Fenris finally turned fully to him. “What did you need?”

Azzan wasn't at all convinced, but he let it go in deference to Fenris' obvious reluctance. “I don't know exactly how to go about this, if you want me to continue with this or not, or if you-” He cut himself off as he took in the suddenly rigid frame before him. He hurried forward, unsure what he'd done wrong but wanting to correct it. “I brought some things over,” he said unnecessarily, gesturing dumbly to the pile beside the chair. “I was wondering if you would like to get started learning to read and write. If you would like,” he repeated, wanting to emphasize Fenris' choice in the matter. His heart hammered a staccato rhythm against his ribs. He couldn't even say why. What was he afraid of?

But Fenris leaned forward in his seat, eyes wide. His gaze seemed caught on the papers slowly sliding across the floor. “You truly mean to teach me?”

Fenris had doubted? Was that why he hadn't brought it up again? “If you're willing to have me for a teacher.” Fenris looked up at him through those glimmering bangs. “I can't say I'd be the best you could find. I've never done this before. But I didn't think you wanted me telling anyone, and I want to help if I can.”

Fenris straightened again. “You needn't,” he said.

Azzan smiled “I believe I do.”

He picked up the papers, even as Fenris stared wide-eyed at him. He'd worked for two straight days to come up with and create the best possible worksheets he could. Several had pictures, crudely drawn though they were, as he'd had to do them himself if he wanted to avoid questions; the pictures had the words for them written right next to them. Fenris already knew how to speak the words – just as Anders states, in the beginning of his manifestos, that people already know the laws against mages.  _Start with what they know._

Also, when, as Anders' manifesto said on the top of the very first page, the information available didn't tell the truth – when it didn't give the information  _necessary_ – then one had no choice but to make the information available oneself.

And so Azzan had made the reading materials himself.

Though he'd heard Fenris speaking with Anders, saying he tried to believe in the stories of the Maker, he didn't think it appropriate to use Chantry scripture and force Fenris to read it. Instead, he'd written a few renditions of Varric's more illustrious tavern tales, along with a few stories of his own – of meeting Varric, of farming in Lothering. Careful, simple stories, ones that failed to mention magic or Fenris himself in any way. Ones that wouldn't get awkward between them as they worked together.

He had those stories, those pictures, and a paper with the alphabet written on it. Behind all that were several blank papers for Fenris to practice on. He'd tried to think of everything they would need, but if he'd failed, he would use some of the blank papers himself while Fenris worked.

His father, when he'd been young, had used children's stories. He'd pointed out the words as he'd read them, letting Azzan trail his gaze after his father's finger. But Azzan thought that might have been after he'd already begun learning; he remembered recognizing a word or two, which surely he wouldn't have done without previous instruction.

And so he'd come up with this. He hoped it would be enough.

Fenris leaned forward again as Azzan bent to pick up his fallen pile. “If you want someone else, like Varric–”

“No,” Fenris said quickly. This time the flushed look couldn't be anything other than a blush. “This is fine. This is...”

Azzan smiled. “All right. Then would you like to start now?”

“Yes,” the man said, his voice strong in his sudden conviction. “As much time as you can spare.”

Azzan had all day, with nothing pressing until next week. He'd specifically planned it so that, if the elf didn't wish to start that day, Hawke would have been available for him later. He didn't tell Fenris that. “Do you have a table somewhere you'd like to use?”

Fenris stood. “Let's go to the dining room.”

* * *

 

Fenris was an avid learner. When Azzan left several hours into the evening that first day, the man had already copied down the letters several times and learned to match most basic sounds to the shapes. Azzan warned Fenris about overtaxing his mind, and had finally left with the promise to return for a couple of hours the next day to help Fenris with whatever he inevitably forgot. Azzan had arrived just past midday, expecting to find a man frustrated with his lack of progress. Instead, he found Fenris practicing the letters he did remember and awaiting Hawke's return. As soon as Azzan entered the house, Fenris practically dragged him to the table to tell him again what the letters he'd forgotten were for.

By the end of the week, before Azzan had to go meet once more with officials in the Keep to prove his brother was still alive – and thus still had the right to any inheritance should the worst come to pass – Fenris had already begun memorizing the alphabet and had moved on to the pictures. Every spare moment Fenris had, he studied.

Azzan did everything he could to help. He taught Fenris a few songs he'd learned as a child, ones picked up from children in the towns he called home when he was young, He remembered a song about vowels, one that cataloged the vowels in order, then deliberately mispronounced the names of fruits to show how each vowel could change the sound of the word. He sang the ABC song and the alphabet song, subjecting himself to the startled snort of laughter at his horrible voice and the admittance that Fenris had once heard children singing the same songs – on-key, Fenris noted straight-faced – but he hadn't understood which letters they referred to. Since Azzan had placed the letters of the alphabet in order on the paper he'd given Fenris that first day, he just had Fenris pull it out and pointed to each letter as he sang again.

Fenris sang them both quietly after he finished, his gaze intent on the page. It was for the best that Fenris' attention was diverted; at the sound of his deep voice holding out the notes of the songs, Azzan's breath left him entirely. He'd nearly choked on his tongue when Fenris looked back at him and smiled. He'd had to feign busywork with a couple empty pages to keep from showing off the sudden flush in his cheeks.

* * *

 

Azzan kept his schedule as empty as he could, but sometimes things just couldn't be helped. When Emeric asked for his help with finding the man responsible for the dead women, Azzan had to go. He took Varric, Isabela, and Fenris, steering clear of bringing Aveline with him. They hadn't spoken much since the Fade. He didn't know how to broach that gap, or even if it was his job to do so. Or even if it was _safe_ to do so. How could he trust her on a battlefield when, if a battle got tough, he couldn't be sure she wouldn't dislike his use of magic? In darker moments, he wondered if he could ever trust her at his back again. In the worst moments, right before he slept, he wondered if he would have templars barging into his home in the middle of the night.

But he knew himself well enough to know how this would all end. He knew he would forgive her, even if she never admitted her betrayal to his face. Even if she never once apologized or changed her point of view. And he would probably hurt himself in doing so.

Beyond Emeric’s problems and Azzan’s personal woes, the men at the Bone Pit needed to be checked on, along with the caravans being attacked recently; he'd already gone two weeks past his usual monthly visit. But he put it off a while longer, wanting to keep close to Fenris' work. So Fenris could continue to study every night.

It began to pay off. By the time a month had passed, Fenris was able to read and write each letter, though he stumbled sometimes over the ones with multiple sounds like the vowels and the letter c. He could read the words from the pictures Azzan had made, prompting him to make more. He could even read the stories Azzan had written, though he still stumbled over some of the words. 'Hour' always made the elf grit his teeth as he tried to remember the silent h. But despite the struggles Fenris faced, Azzan remained stunned at his level of progress.

He stopped by during Chantry services one day, the Hightown streets nearly empty as its citizens crammed themselves inside the Chantry. He knocked on the front door and stood in shock as Fenris actually answered it. He stood gaping for a moment as Fenris moved to the side to allow him entry. Only Fenris' slowly raised brow got him moving.

“Sorry. I just – usually you don't come to the door.”

“I decided I would give it a try.” Fenris shut the door behind him. The elf held himself stiffly, almost tense. He gestured up toward the bedroom, where they usually spoke. “Did you come on business?”

Azzan shook his head. He tried as relaxed a posture as possible while still standing by the door. “No. I came to continue your studies. Have you something else you must attend to?”

Fenris shook his head. “No.” But the man didn't move. Azzan waited for a moment, not sure what Fenris needed, only for Fenris' shoulders to suddenly slump. “I... need your help.”

Almost, Azzan said _anything_. Almost, Azzan blurted out something that would make his feelings plain. Feelings he had yet to name, feelings he refused to acknowledge. Almost. He took a deep breath. “What is it, Fenris?”

Instead of answering, Fenris just gestured out toward the dining room. The studies? Had something gone wrong? Azzan hurried out, his gaze flickering over the room the instant he made it past the hall and through the doorway. The fire was out, the room lit by candle after candle, carefully separated from the papers strewn across the entirety of the table's surface. A couple pages had even drifted to the floor. In front of the table furthest from the door was a small stack about a finger’s height tall. He turned to Fenris. “You're going to need more paper.”

“That's not what I mean.” Fenris brushed past him into the room. Again, Azzan followed. Fenris scowled at nothing, his glare moving out to the empty fireplace before coming to rest on the pile of papers Azzan had noted earlier. He scooted the top layer off, only to reveal, not more paper, but the Book of Shartan Azzan had given him.

Azzan blinked. “Wait... you're already reading this?”

Fenris nearly snarled at him. “It's been a month, Hawke.”

“Yes,” Azzan said, slowly. “It's only been a month.” At the furious look Fenris granted him, Azzan held up his hands. “Fenris, you have learned in one month something that took me at least a year or two. Likely more. You have made exceptional progress. You don't have to keep pushing yourself so hard.”

Fenris shook his head and began pacing before the fireplace. “No,” he said, and Hawke moved to ask him why he thought he needed to hurry when the man helpfully answered without prompting. “You've held off your usual rounds in order to teach me. We both know that cannot continue forever.”

At first, Azzan was surprised Fenris had noticed. But the man had accompanied him off and on for three years. It would have been odd if he _hadn't_ noticed the change. And then on the heels of that realization came the shame, as he realized just what his actions must have looked like from the outside.

Azzan picked the book up from the table and moved to stand before Fenris, blocking his path across the room. He spoke before Fenris could do more than scowl. “Fenris, no. I'm sorry; that's not how I meant this. The time I've taken off has been for you to become comfortable, for us to learn what works and what doesn't. It was never meant to say that this is a temporary arrangement.” He dared hold out the book for Fenris to take. “Even if it takes years – even if you never feel you've learned enough – I will continue to teach you, if you will have me.”

Fenris stood without moving, his body still as Azzan continued holding out the book. Just as he was about to give up and place it back on the table, Fenris reached up, almost as if snapping from a trance, and curled his fingers around its binding. The lyrium marked on his hands looked like snow. “Your offer,” Fenris said, and fumbled. “Thank you.”

Fenris turned his gaze away, as if blushing. Azzan didn't press further. “It's my pleasure, Fenris.” He hadn't meant the man's name to sound so reverent and breathless, but it had and there was no turning back. He let the elf take the full weight of the book. “Would you like to practice with the book today, anyway?”

Fenris nodded, his body turning to the table, away from Azzan. “Yes.”

There was something intimate to reading something so important with another. He thought again to their odd flirting, weeks earlier, now; the way he'd ended up admitting to liking Fenris. Fenris had been so confident in the exchange – so unlike him, nearly stumbling over his own tongue. Nearly giving away more when Fenris called his intentions into question. Somehow, the words only seemed real when something like this happened, when Fenris handed over another piece of his trust. “All right. Just let me go over your work since I was last here, then we can start on the book. Sound good?”

Fenris shrugged, his fingers grasping the book so tightly they might bend the binding. Something made Azzan stop before he moved to the table himself, made him wait a moment longer. Because of that, he got the chance to watch as Fenris placed the book down, smoothing the cover of imagined wrinkles. Those slim fingers ghosted over the leather before Fenris looked back up. Caught, Azzan allowed himself another dare. “May I ask?” he said, voice quiet, as suited the moment. “Why did you accept my gift this time?”

Fenris lifted his chin. Azzan feared he might have pressed too hard. But then Fenris leaned his hip against the table and answered him. “Because you have shown kindness toward me. One that isn't matched by your usual kindness to everyone. This was not some holiday obligation, but instead a choice you made with only myself in mind.”

Kindness to everyone? “No matter when I may find something for you, Fenris, it's... personal. I don't buy gifts for just anyone.”

Fenris scoffed. “You buy things for your companions all the time. And you fetch things for others at least once a week.”

Both of those were valid points. But since there'd been no anger in the accusations, Azzan allowed himself to say, “the items found had been lost, or even just things people were willing to buy. I grant the buying things for others thing, but – I do that for friends. You're...” He hesitated. “A friend. At the very least.”

One of those black brows rose. “'At the very least'?”

A smirk. Fenris was smirking at him. More flirting. Oh, Maker. “Hopefully more.”

Fenris was the one to take the step, to move into Azzan's personal space. “Only hopefully?”

Every single inch of his skin turned sensitive to Fenris' proximity, becoming aware of the man's heat, his earth-and-cinnamon scent, the smell and sound of the man's leather, the glint of light off the metal of his chestplate and gauntlets. And, curiously, for the first time, he became the slightest bit aware of something else – a smell like that of burnt air and the not-quite feeling of the Fade. The scents all blurred together, until every breath made them catch like snowflakes on his tongue. “If you wish it,” he said finally, his words thick in his throat.

Fenris' eyes glinted. “It's... an intriguing option, Hawke.”

Heat shot up his spine. In the time it took to breathe in, he was hard. He forced his hands to remain at his sides, unsure if this was really happening, if it was a trick or an illusion. If it weren't for the distant feeling of Faith's presence, he might have even thought he'd gone to sleep and fallen into a demon's grasp.

It was good that he kept a vice grip over his wayward desires. An instant after he controlled himself, Fenris stepped away once more. “I will keep what you've said these past few weeks in mind.”

Considering it. Right. He was still considering it. Testing his own boundaries, probably. Azzan took a careful breath. It hitched. He closed his eyes and nodded. He was uncomfortably hard, but he should hopefully make it without embarrassing himself. So long as Fenris didn't mention it. He hoped his underclothes did their job to hide the evidence beneath his robe, but just in case, he sat. “All right. I take it this stack is what you've worked on?” He didn't wait for an answer before grabbing the pile and going through it. He was still viscerally aware of the elf, even as Fenris chose his usual seat at the head of the table. The elf touched the cover of the book, then opened it, slowly working his way across the first line of the page, his lips moving silently as he read.

Azzan practically dug his face into the papers, hardly reading the sentences Fenris had struggled to form on his own. All he could think about was their exchange – and the rapid, almost disbelieving beat of his heart. His hands shook.

It took minutes for his gaze to focus.

The future had always been nebulous to him. On the run his entire childhood, settling roots in Lothering, only to have to hide himself for fear of discovery. The Blight. His world had always been so vulnerable, so prone to destruction over even the barest of attacks. But now the foundation that had laid his course all his life seemed almost to settle. Nothing in his heart had ever been more certain.

And for the first time, the future looked almost set, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious, the children songs are as follows:
> 
> Apples and Bananas  
> ABC Song  
> The Alphabet Song


End file.
